


Sorrow's Hold

by anonniemoose



Series: SPN OneShots [13]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anxiety, Depression, Disassociation, F/M, Hallucinations, Insomnia, OOCness, Psychosis, Song fic, caring!crowley, crowley being a good boyf, like seriously, lots of crying because I need a good cry, major trigger warnings here guys, mental health, possibly?, preestablished relationship, really bad mental health, spoilers for season 12 and a bit of season 13, talks of suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-09
Updated: 2018-04-09
Packaged: 2019-04-20 17:27:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,877
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14266035
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anonniemoose/pseuds/anonniemoose
Summary: Your depression takes a massive hold over you shortly after Crowley’s death and without him to help you with your thoughts, you can slowly feel yourself slipping away.





	Sorrow's Hold

**Author's Note:**

> So, had a shit day today and have been listening to ‘My Heart is Broken’ by Evanescence over and over, so I decided to write a fic based on it. Hope thy all enjoy!
> 
> Based off of [this](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nNsv_xaDXWc) song.

**Sorrow's Hold**

_‘I pull away to face the pain_  
I close my eyes and drift away  
Over the fear that I will never find  
A way to heal my soul  
And I will wander 'til the end of time  
Torn away from you

 _My heart is broken_  
Sweet sleep, my dark angel  
Deliver us from sorrow's hold  
Or from my hard heart’ – _‘My Heart is Broken’_ , Evanescence

 

When Sam and Dean returned with Jack and no Crowley or Cas, you instantly knew something was wrong. Hell, you knew something was wrong the day before but no matter how many times you called the boys, they didn’t pick up. So, when they walked through the door, you were a nervous wreck. It took one look at Dean and Sam to know what had happened.

“What happened?”

Sam looks at Dean, clearly unsure on how to approach the subject. “What happened to my boyfriend and Wicked Wings?” You repeat, words hard and cold as stone, tears already threatening to spill over.

“Y/N….” Sam starts, hesitating and Dean just flat out refusing to talk. “Cas….he was stabbed by Lucifer before we could close the riff. And….the spell we needed required a life. Crowley, he killed himself so it’d work.” You blink as the events that took place the night before the boys went to go save the world – again – started making sense.

Crowley had insisted you stayed behind, not wanting you to be within arm’s reach of Lucifer, knowing he’d kill you in an instant. You tried to protest, you wanted to see this through to the very end and that you could handle yourself, but when he finally told you what had happened during the hell that was the months he was locked away in Hell being humiliated by Lulu himself, you decided to cut him some slack. You weren’t even suspicious when you asked him to promise you he’d return home safely and he responded with a kiss, an inside joke between the two of you about ‘sealing the deal’.

The insistence and his refusal to verbally promise to return, and the fact that he didn’t want sex he just wanted to spend time talking about your life together, stuff you had done and wanted to do, the fact that at one point you _swore_ he was teary-eyed, but that’s not Crowley. He wouldn’t be like that, the last time he cried was when he was on the blood and you had to help him through his withdrawals.

It made sense now.

You hadn’t released that you sat down in shock and that tears were streaming. You were silent, vocal cords frozen in disbelief. “He’ll be back.” You swear, voice wobbling, giving away the fact you _knew_ he was going to stay dead.

Sam’s hand rests on your shoulder, trying to provide you with some level of comfort. “Y/N…I’m sorry, but I don’t think he is.”

Shortly after, you snapped.

You knew it was coming, this time of year you always had a massive depressive spell that you and Crowley could track better than you could track any other part of your body. You had been preparing for it when he died, and usually he’d be there to help. He was your support, the one person you seeked approval from and the one person you seeked help from during the times like this. Eight years of this support and you were unaccustomed to go through this alone, or even setting up and preparing for all of this.

So, with the very few resources you had prepared, you locked yourself in your room and allowed yourself to slip away.

First came the tears. God, you were sure that you would have been able to fill oceans with the amount of tears you cried. You cried and cried, never leaving your bed for anything, dressed in a shirt of Crowley’s, clinging onto his pillow tightly as your tears soaked through the fabric of the black, satiny pillow case, because he refused to have any other colour. Sam and Dean would leave food and water by your door, and on occasion would bring it in when it became apparent you weren’t leaving the room to get it. They tried talking to you about hunts, about memories of Crowley, about how amazingly strong you are getting through this, but you didn’t have the strength to respond. You barely had the strength to cry, but the tears kept on coming.

You did, however, force yourself to drink water, Crowley’s voice ringing in your head to remind you that tears make you dehydrated and that’s not something you need to be.

A week of tears, only drinking water and refusing to get out of bed for anything but to pee. The boys were concerned, and rightfully so. But, they presumed once the tears were over that that’d be the end of it.

Then the zoning out happened

You’d spend hours just staring at the wall, retreating into your mind, uncontrollably. You likened it to sitting in a pool, the words you hear are jarbled but you can acknowledge words were being said. You could see everything, but it was all foggy. Thoughts were slow and hard to grasp. You just….sat there. Unable to move, unable to think, drowning in nothingness.

When Sam first saw you he freaked out. Seconds later, you felt a familiar pressure on your forehead and the feeling of someone you knew – Cas? – rummaging around your mind, hands grasping at your consciousness, trying to drag you out only for you to slip through ghost fingers.

So, they did the next best thing. They sat with you, taking shifts, leaving Netflix on as they researched beside you, helping you through the fatigue that followed you coming out of an attack. At some stage, you came out of it to see a bearded Ketch in your room, bullet wound on his shoulder as he slams a tray of food down by your feet, simply saying that Crowley wouldn’t want you to waste away before disappearing into the night. You don’t know why you like Ketch, but you like him nonetheless. So, you ate a little and drank more water.

That, thankfully, only lasted a few days. But what followed would have freaked you out, if you didn’t currently have the emotional range of a toaster.

It was almost like a ritual. You’d bring out all your weapons and line them up in order of how slowly they’d kill you, nearly going through with it with your gun or tracing lightly the words you wanted to carve onto your legs, leaving light scratches. When Dean walked in with your gun in your mouth, he flipped. You’d never seen him so pissed.

You didn’t even apologise. Just staring at him emptily, not sure why he was freaking out so badly. After all, you weren’t loved, who were you to keep living? Who’d care if you died, if anything, people would rejoice.

Sam quickly removed everything from your room that could be seen as a weapon, leaving you in a more or less empty room. So, you resolved to just laying there. Staring at the ceiling, unable to move.

Now, over a month since Crowley’s death, your brain started something new

You hadn’t been this bad for this long since childhood, for the most part your episodes would last a week, maybe two. So, when the next symptom started up, you were completely unprepared.

Hallucinations.

You were there when Sam was suffering with his visions after Cas tore down the wall in his brain, so you were certain yours would get worse. But, for the most part, it didn’t affect you as bad as Sam’s affected him.

Commanding voices telling you to change your sheets, shower, brush your hair that had been neglected for months – which, thankfully, a local hairdresser was more than happy to do for free when she saw you grabbing top quality conditioner and detangler –, to eat something other than a small apple or a piece of bread, to wash your clothes and put something clean on. The voices were never cruel, they just wanted you to get your life back together.

The only thing they did that caused you to freak out was order you to clear our Crowley’s belongings from your room.

You couldn’t.

It was too soon.

It was the only time you refused to go through with the voices instructions, compromising to instead move his stuff into your closet so it was unseen.

Images of the ghosts of your past would walk right in front of you, you’d swear you saw your deceased boyfriend next to you, but when you turned, you were alone. The sensation of hands rubbing up and down your arms, applying the right pressure to calm you, exactly the same way Crowley would during anxiety attacks would make you think _‘maybe he managed to return in spirit form’_. A quick spell assured you that that was not the case.

You couldn’t sleep. Your emotions were slowly returning in full force, making up for lost time. The sensation of complete anger then crippling sadness before heart-attack inducing anxiety leaving you useless in a ball wherever you were standing made it impossible for you to even do anything. You began apologising profusely to Dean and Sam for your actions, and even met Jack. Nice kid.

But any time you saw or remembered anything about your boyfriend, you became catatonic. Just unable to move, paralysed by the tsunami of emotions flowing through you.

So, when you woke up in the middle of the night to see him standing over you, calling your name softly, you were ready to stamp down the sudden oncoming of emotions that hit you like a brick wall.

“Y/N, love. C’mon, wake up for me.” His gravely voice pulling you from your nightmares slowly. “You were having a nightmare, pet, its not real.” You blink before laughing apathetically.

“Figures that this would be the next step.” You say, no emotion in your voice. The vision looks down at you, confused.

“Love?”

“My brain is a prick, you know that? And this is just cruel, giving me a vision of you to torment me? Fucking hell, I’m more messed up than I released.” You turn your body, bringing your blankets closer to you, inhaling his scent through the pillow. Only, it seems to be encompassing the room, coming from everywhere. You roll your eyes. Your brain is thorough too.

A warm hand rests on your shoulder and it takes all your strength to shrug it off, not wanting it to leave. The hand is stubborn and refuses to move. “Y/N, I’m really hear pet.” His voice sounds heartbroken, unsure. Not Crowley. “Love, I came back. I had to follow Lucifer through the rift then make my way here.” You move away, it’s painful to do so but you manage. Standing, you move to the opposite side of the room. The look in Crowley’s eyes of concern and uncertainty was foreign, but undoubtedly there. “Why did you do it?”

He slowly makes his way around the bed. “Do what?”

“Leave me? Especially now, when I was about to crash. Why didn’t you promise me to return?” Your voice wobbles as you fight back more tears. Fuck’s sake, why can’t you control yourself?

He pauses, clearly affected by your growing emotions. “I’m so sorry, love, but I had to. We had to get him away, and I couldn’t- you would have been in danger if you were there.”

“Why didn’t you tell me your plans? That you were going to gank yourself?”

“Would you have honestly let me leave the Bunker knowing that I was going to take my own life?”

“Well, no.” You admit softly and he shrugs.

“There you have it then.” You didn’t release he had moved to in front of you until his feet are touching yours. “Please love, look at me.” You shake your head, eyes squeezed tightly shut. “Why not?”

“I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“It’ll hurt.” You can hear his confusion without him voicing a word. “I can’t look at you and know that you aren’t real.”

“Oh love, I’m very real.” His hand brushes against your shoulder and you yank back, sudden anger taking over your system as you begin to yell.

“Why can’t you leave me alone? I’m tired, Crowley. I’m tired of feeling, of living, of not knowing what’s going on and what’s happening, of having absolutely _no fucking control of my body_. I don’t want you to be here, to torment me! You _left_ me, Crowley. You didn’t tell me _shit_ and you _knew_ you were going to die. And you don’t enter fuck all without knowing what’s happening. You should have _told me_.” You sit down on the bed, tears streaming yet again. Surely you had cried enough? Why was your body not tired enough, and how could it still be producing tears? “You should have told me.” You repeat, voice broken.

To his credit, he doesn’t try to leave you, or step back, or even react shocked. He just stands there, waiting for you to finish. “I know, I should have told you. I’m really sorry, but I’m back and in one piece.” You finally look up and stare at him.

“How do I know it’s you? Not a hallucination, not a trick from an angel or a demon.” He looks down before humming.

“Well, have you had any hallucinations recently?” You think over it.

“Only voices. Shadows. Not…not together though.” You admit. “But it could have progressed.” Crowley nods.

“Well, let’s think about this logically. What have the voices said to you?”

“They, they told me to do stuff.”

“Have I done that, pet?”

“No?”

“Then why would they change?” You nod slowly. Your auditory hallucinations had been relatively consistent with their theme, not really changing besides the orders given.

“But then you could be a trick. Asmodeous is apparently good at that sort of thing, or a shapeshifter?” Crowley hums before smiling, a genuine smile that only you ever got to see.

“When we first met, it was before I met the boys. You were working a case about this idiot who sold his soul to me and you managed to get me into a devil’s trap _and_ ward off my hellhounds, and at the same time was working on a case concerning a nest of vampires the town over. All on your own.” You smile at the memory of an insulted and annoyed Crowley glaring at you as you left him alone for a day mid-interrogation to go and deal with the vamps. “I was pissed, but you kept me there for a week. We got flirting, I would come see you to invite you for drinks-’

“Stalked.” You interrupt. “The word you are looking for is stalked.”

“It worked though, didn’t it?” You roll your eyes, letting out a watery laugh. “You agreed to one drink if it meant that I’d, and I quote, “fucked off back to hell and never bothered you again”. One drink slowly turned into this.” You smile softly.

“You’re really back, aren’t you?”

“Yes, love, I am.”

“If you ever do something that fucking stupid again, I’m killing you myself.”

“I know you will, pet.” You launch yourself at him, holding him tightly as you nearly wind him.

“I missed you.” You admit, him returning the sentiment as you snuggled in close. Seconds pass before you finally ask the question you only wanted to ask him that had been burning in your mind for days now. “Am I broken?”

He looks down at you in slight surprise. “What on earth could be broken in you, love?” You shrug.

“My heart, my soul. Me. Just generally broken.” You shrug it off. “It’s stupid.” His hand grasps at your chin and makes you look up at him.

“There is not an inch of you that is broken, you are whole and you are perfect.” He reminds you. “You are human.” That last sentence makes you feel so much better, that small reminder squashing away any feelings of uncertainty that you are, in fact, nothingness. “When was the last time you slept a full night without any disruptions?” You shrug, honestly not being able to remember. “C’mon, go to sleep. We can talk about everything else in the morning.”

He leads you to your bed, moving instantly to wrap his arms around you as he presses against your back, his warmth and familiar scent and pressure as he holds you tight calming you instantly. “I love you.” You whisper quietly.

“Love you too.” Comes the reply with a chaste kiss to your temple.

“If I wake up tomorrow and you’re gone, I’m going to find a way to murder my brain.” You hear him laugh lightly before you start to slip away into the darkness.

“I know you would.”

It took a while, but eventually sorrow’s hold let go and you were on the mend. The boys weren’t impressed with Crowley’s surprise return, but you knew one thing for certain.

Everything was going to be okay.

[Buy Me a Coffee](https://ko-fi.com/V7V6BCVF)


End file.
